An Unforgettable Bedtime Story
by krisknowsthis
Summary: Marilla finally opens up to Anne one summer night, and tells her one of her deepest secrets: the true story behind the end of her friendship & relationship with John Blythe.
1. Chapter 1

It's been quite a while! With so much going on, I wasn't able to write another story! Glad to be back, and hope you enjoy the story.

*** **Bold words/sentences** are from the 37th Chapter of Lucy M. Montgomery's book: Anne of Green Gables***

* * *

Sixteen year old, Anne Shirley, gazed out her small, white window. It was certainly great to be back in Green Gables after visiting a handful of energetic students in her future classroom. To Anne, her bedroom was her sanctuary - her safe haven, a place of peace. In her bedroom, she wept, laughed, and shared secrets. Anne sighed in delight, staring at the pearly moon nestling over the neighboring cottages. The delicate, lace curtains Matthew had dearly gave her, danced gracefully in the breeze. Anne sighed, deep in thought, braiding her flaming, red locks.

A light knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and at once, Anne began to panic. _Who can it be, knocking on my door this late hour? She_ thought to herself, glancing at the ivory clock, stiffly placed on her newly-painted, bedroom wall. _It is 9:00, and Marilla usually comes back from the Aid meeting at 9:20! Who can be knocking on my door now?_

Bracing herself, Anne put on a robe over her nightgown, and gripped a dripping candle, as the knock on the door continued.

"Wh-who is this?" she whispered, inching toward the door.

"It's Marilla," came the tired, but crisp voice from the other side of the door.

"Ohh!" Anne exhaled, collapsing on a white, wooden chair. "You scared the wits out of me, Marilla! I was thinking you were some sort of thief!"

"Well, thank God I'm not! Aren't you going to let me in?"

Anne flew out of her seat, "I'm so sorry Marilla!" she said, gently opening the door.

Marilla crept in, still dressed in her day clothing. Anne had to admit, that Marilla was getting older. Her worn-out eyes were now obviously sunken in. Her hair, bundled in a hard knot at the nape of her neck, was now fully a flint gray.

Anne wrapped her slender, freckled arms around Marilla's thin shoulders, and looked back at her. "I missed you Marilla!"

Marilla managed a smile, "I'm glad you did. I am sorry that I wasn't home when you arrived. I hope you saw the note I left on the kitchen table."

Anne nodded.

"I also hope you found your dinner on the counter, and ate it too."

"I surely did!"

"And you took a bath, and cleaned yourself."

"Yes!"

"And did you-"

"Oh Marilla!" Anne sighed, holding her knotty hands. "You _have_ to remember that I'm not a young child anymore!"

"You're right," Marilla acquiesced, seating herself at the end of Anne's soft, bed.

"For the first time!" Anne laughed, silently tucking herself inside her cotton blankets.

"Well, how was your day?" Marilla asked, taking off her shawl, and neatly folding it on her lap.

"It was tiresome, but at the same time _phenomenal!_ I'm already in love with my future students!"

"That's great to hear," Marilla yawned. "I cannot believe that _my_ Anne is all grown up. Wasn't it just yesterday when you were an eleven year old girl, **always getting into scrapes. I did used to think you were possessed. Do you mind the time you dyed your hair?"**

Anne blushed, reaching for the long braid of copper hair, running down her back. " **Yes, indeed. I shall never forget it.** I can't help but laugh every time I think about it. I never knew I was _dangerously_ self-conscious about my hair, and especially my freckles! My freckles are certainly gone, and I'm glad about it; **and people are nice to tell me my hair is auburn now-all but Josie Pye.** Did you know, that she told me yesterday **that she really thought it was redder than ever, or at least my black dress made it look redder, and she asked me if people with red hair ever got used to having it.** There were _many_ times when I attempted to befriend Josie, Marilla. But I came to the conclusion that, **Josie Pye won't be _liked._** "

Marilla shook her head, "A Pye is a Pye, and _all_ Pyes are disagreeable. Therefore, Josie can't help but to be disagreeable! Do you know if she's going to teach? I can promise you that she would not be a great teacher."

"Certainly not! Josie along with Charlie and Moody are going back to Queen's next year. **Jane and Ruby are going to teach and they both got schools-Jane at Newbridge and Ruby at some place up west."**

 **"Gilbert Blythe is going to teach too, isn't he?"**

"Yes," Anne said quickly, upturning her pretty nose.

Marilla sighed and smiled, "He's turning into a handsome and polite young fellow. When I saw him at church on Sunday, I was about to call him 'John.' He is beginning to look like his father everyday. **John Blythe was a nice boy. We used to be real good friends, he and I. People called him my beau.** "

Anne's green eyes flashed up in surprise, "What in the world ever happened?"

Marilla looked down at her gnarled hands, "Long story short, we quarreled, and I refused to forgive him when he asked me to. I honestly meant to, but I was too angry about it. All Avonlea folks knew the Blythes were awfully independent, and before I knew it, John left me and moved on."

 **"So you've had a bit of romance in your life, too," Anne said softly.**

Marilla's old eyes, wandered to the moonlit scene outside Anne's window. "I suppose so."

"Well," Anne said, pushing the cotton blankets up to her chin. "How about a bedtime story?"

Marilla's tired eyes suddenly widened like an owl's. "Anne don't tell me you are sixteen and still asking for bedtime stories!"

"And is that a bad thing? Oh Marilla, you know how much I _love_ stories. Why don't you tell me a love story about you and John Blythe!"

Marilla laughed, "Oh Anne, it's getting late. I don't-"

"Please!" Anne pleaded. "This may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Before you know it, I'll be married in a big house with seven children!"

"Oh Anne, you don't need to exaggerate."

"It's true, Marilla. _Please_ tell me."

Marilla couldn't resist the pleading eyes of the girl who always made her laugh. The girl who brightened her days. The girl who cried on her shoulder.

 _The girl she loved..._

"Oh, alright," she sighed. "But I'll make it short and sweet."

Anne wrapped her arms around Marilla, and pecked her on the left cheek, "Oh Marilla! You are the dearest!"

Marilla quickly rubbed her hallow, left cheek, and cleared her throat. "But you must promise not to interrupt. I can't stand interruptions, and you have the biggest tendency to interrupt people when they talk."

"I solemnly swear that I will not interrupt," Anne said seriously. "You may now start the story."

Marilla cleared her throat, and looked at the window, "Well, I clearly remember the day I first met John..."

* * *

I hope you can see where this story will lead to. I certainly don't expect this to be a chapter book! Just a short and sweet story.

Have a great day/night!

-Kristine


	2. Chapter 2

"Marilla Cuthbert!" came the booming voice of Mr. Davies, the schoolhouse teacher. "I want to know where Marilla Cuthbert is!"

Marilla shyly slid her hand into the air. "I-I'm right here," she stuttered.

Mr. Davies' voice boomed throughout the schoolhouse. "I _said,_ where is Marilla Cuthbert?!"

Marilla wanted to cry, she had never felt so intimidated in her life. She was a well-behaved girl, always doing what was asked of her. Therefore, no one had _ever_ scolded or shouted at her. Marilla felt the world was going to end soon. Life was _certainly_ changing for the worse. At her first day at a new school, the teacher was already yelling at her!

Before she could wipe the tears welling up in her eyes, Marilla felt a slight tap on her shoulder. Quickly turning around, Marilla saw a boy around her own age, with a soft smile on his lips. "Say it again," he encouraged with warm, hazel eyes. "Mr. Davies is practically deaf, and his temper is quite awful. You can do it, I know you can!"

"If Marilla Cuthbert doesn't reveal who she is, _someone_ is going to be in serious trouble. Where _is_ Marilla Cuthbert?" fumed Mr. Davies.

Marilla quietly slid up from her seat, "Here I am, Mr. Davies," she mumbled.

Mr. Davies turned around briskly, and stalked toward Marilla, towering over her. "Ahhh," he said with a scary smile, writing a brief note in a leather-bound book, resting in his big-knuckled hands. "So you are the Marilla Cuthbert I was calling all this time. Welcome to Avonlea, Marilla. And because you are a new student, I will show you mercy. When you hear your name called, you _must_ answer right away. Do you understand?"

"Yes, b-but, I—"

"That would be enough, Miss Cuthbert. Excuses are not allowed in this school. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Yes, who?"

"Yes, Mr. Davies."

"Now class, let's begin the day."

Marilla had never felt so humiliated in her life. At once, a flash of realization struck her in the heart; _life would never turn for the better_. She stepped back to take a look at her future, and envisioned more dull days, loneliness, and humiliation.

Once again, Marilla was tapped on the shoulder.

She slowly turned around to find the hazel-eyed boy who had encouraged her previously. "I _knew_ you could do it!" he whispered. "Don't worry, Mr. Davies is an awful man. _Nobody_ likes him."

Marilla turned to face the front of the classroom, and smiled. _Perhaps life could turn for the better._

* * *

"So you were a sensitive girl," Anne began slowly.

Marilla nodded, "Oh yes! I never knew how sensitive I was until I moved to Avonlea. I used to cry for _everything._ If Matthew was alive, he'd attest to that!"

"Marilla!" marveled Anne. "You never cease to surprise me! I had _no_ idea you were like that! But I must say, why-"

"I thought you promised that you wouldn't interrupt me," Marilla said with a slight smile.

"Sorry about that Marilla. My lips are sealed."

* * *

Twelve year old Marilla shivered in the cold, autumn breeze. Alone. Abandoned. _Hungry_ _._

She hadn't the time to make her lunch, after doing morning farm work, cleaning the house, and preparing lunch for her father and brother. She came to Avonlea with a clean slate, having high hopes of making friends, because what she needed but never had was a friend. Someone to laugh with, and someone's shoulder to cry on.

The words of her dying mother echoed in her soul, "Whenever you feel lonely, think about me. No matter where I am, or which condition I am in, I will always be there for _you_."

Tears began to stream down her flushed cheeks, as her heart ached for her dear mother.

"Dear mother," Marilla said through salty tears, "I need you right now. I hate this place, and I want to go back to the States - where you really are. I feel so lonely and deserted. No one wants to talk to me, and the teacher _hates_ me!"

She sighed, it did feel great to say it aloud. After taking a deep breath, Marilla quickly wiped her sniffling nose and looked around. _"I'll just take a walk around the school,"_ she said to herself. _"A nice saunter will certainly distract me from my awful situation."_

Marilla rose from the cold, wooden bench and stretched her thin arms.

"There you are!" came the familiar voice of the boy who talked to her at the schoolhouse. "I've been looking all over for you! I was gonna introduce you to the girls."

Marilla's short, chestnut brown hair went in different directions as she fiercely shook her head. "There will be no need to."

The boy sat beside her on the bench and sighed, "You're awful shy, aren't you."

Marilla shrugged her shoulders, "I dunno."

"You don't like talkin' too."

"I suppose so."

The boy sighed again, "I understand. I know a few people like you."

Marilla was waiting for the strange boy to walk away from her, after a moment of silence. But to her surprise, the boy spoke again.

"Say! I forgot to introduce myself to you!" he exclaimed as he began to chew on a bright, red Honeycrisp apple.

After chewing three, gigantic bites, he placed the ripe apple on the bench, and held out a sun-tanned hand, "John," he said. "The name is John Blythe." After Marilla didn't say anything, John continued. "And you are Marilla, right?"

Marilla nodded as her dark eyes looked hungrily at the delicious apple.

"Would you mind if I call you _Mar_? I like calling people by their nicknames."

Once again, Marilla shrugged her shoulders, "I dunno. I suppose not."

"Well then, welcome to Avonlea, Mar!" he said. "Where are you from?"

"Well," Marilla began shyly, "I originally came from the States."

John's hazel eyes widened in excitement, "The States?! You mean the United States of America?!"

Marilla managed a smile, her long eyelashes sweeping down as she looked at her fair hands, "Yep, that's what I mean."

"But what made you leave the States? From what I've heard, it's luxury down there!"

Before Marilla could speak, her stomach let out a deep growl, and soon, her skin resembled that of a tomato.

John's eyes widened in realization, "Fiddlesticks! I am so selfish!" he held out the half-chewed apple he was eating. "Here, take this."

Marilla shook her head, "I cannot take what does not belong to me."

John thrust the apple into her shaking hands. "Well _now_ it belongs to you. You need something to eat. Don't worry about me, I already had my lunch. What do you think about the apple? Does it taste good?"

Marilla took a juicy bite, "It-it's delicious," she muttered, using the back of her hand to wipe the sweet juice on her lips. "Thank you."

"No problem!" John said proudly. "The Blythes are known for their apples. Come stop by one day, and my mother will give you a whole basket of 'em!"

He happily watched Marilla devour the apple. "I could bring you lunch every day," he began. "My mother wouldn't mind at all!"

Marilla's head snapped up, "NO!" she practically screamed. "I cannot let you do this!"

"Honest," John said in confusion. "She certainly wouldn't mind!"

"I do not need your help to solve my problems. I will not allow you to bring me lunch!"

And with that, Marilla ran as fast as her legs could take her to the brick schoolhouse, leaving a confused boy, sitting on a wooden bench.

* * *

"Marilla, sorry, but I _have_ to say something!" Anne blurted, sitting up.

Marilla shook her head, "What is it then?"

"John was such a nice boy. Why did you _have_ to run away from him when he offered to bring you lunch everyday? That was certainly not nice of you."

Marilla shrugged her shoulders, "I was always taught that it wasn't right to take what could be given to others who need it more."

"What do you mean?"

"Although my family wasn't well-off, there were people in more need."

"I understand now."

"Well then, let's continue the story."

"One quick question!" Anne exclaimed.

"For the good Lord's sake, this will be your _last_ question!"

"When I first met you, I found it strange that you always said _'Fiddlesticks!'_ when something bad happened. Did you get that from John?"

"Of course I did," Marilla said. "Let's continue the story, shall we?"

"Please continue!" Anne said excitedly, laying back down on the pillow.

* * *

 **That wraps up Chapter 2. Sorry for my poor grammar! I was in one of those moods, being too lazy to edit the story. (Don't judge! I know you can relate!) Moving on, get ready for more adventure and drama! Please leave a review, and give some writing advice. I'd gladly accept it because I want to improve my writing skills. Anyhoo, have a great day/night!**

 **-Kristine**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, I'm back again, and I want to thank you _all_ who have reviewed my story! You may not know this, but your reviews are giving me the hope to finish this story. I really appreciate it. But without further ado, sit back, relax, and enjoy the story!**

 **(P.S. Sorry for the late update...)**

* * *

"Class is over for the day," Mr. Davies announced, snapping his leather-bound book shut. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

Marilla yawned, she'd been up on her feet all day - both at school and at home. Once she got home, she would cook dinner and go to bed earlier than usual. But as of now, her plan was to dart out the schoolhouse so that the strange boy would not run after her and walk her home, just as he had been doing since the beginning of the school year. Marilla's eyes scanned the room, and she spotted John at the very front of the schoolhouse excitedly talking to a group of boys. Grabbing her books, Marilla ran out the back door of the schoolhouse and headed home. Outside, the leaves had disappeared, leaving behind skeleton-bare trees. A raw breeze swarmed past Marilla, sending cold chills running down her spine. Marilla's teeth chattered, winter was coming, and she needed to knit a new sweater.

"Mar!" came the voice she dreaded. "Wait up!"

Marilla shook her head in annoyance. And without turning around, she clutched her books to her chest, and walked as fast as her legs could take her.

"Wait up!" John hollered.

Marilla stopped in her tracks as John caught up with her, sucking in a lungful of air.

"You are really fast for a girl," John said, putting his hands on his knees. "I've never had a run like this for years!"

"And _you_ are really slow for a boy," Marilla muttered, beginning to walk.

John looked at her in amusement, "Finally! This is the first time you talked to me at our walks back home."

Marilla stopped walking, and turned to John, "Why are you always trying to walk me back home since the first day of school? Do you think I'm incapable of walking on my own? Do I look like a helpless child to you? Don't you know that sometimes I like to be on my own."

John shrugged, rubbing the back of his head with his hand, "I do not think you're incapable. I just think I'm being polite. But if you don't like my company, I can leave."

Marilla shook her head, "If you're so polite, why don't you walk Ethel Pye home? She's been making eyes at you since the first day of school."

John raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

Marilla continued to walk, not saying a word.

John shrugged his shoulders, "Well, I don't like Ethel. She's awful mean!"

Marilla clutched her books closer to her chest, "Don't you think I'm mean?" she questioned. "All this time you've been so polite to me, and I've been treating you with contempt. It's been _months_ til school has started, and you're _still_ walking me home without my consent! Why would you refuse to walk Ethel home when I'm just as mean as her?"

"That's because I like you!"

Marilla stopped walking and looked down at her worn-out shoes as a hot blush began to spread across her pale cheeks. After finding out what he had said, John's face became bright red, and his hazel eyes widened as he cupped his hand over his mouth. "Fiddlesticks! I did not mean to say that Mar. What I really meant was that-"

To his surprise, he was interrupted by small stifles of suppressed laughter, followed by an unrestrained yet blissful laugh. John _had_ to laugh himself. Seeing Marilla laugh was certainly a surprise to him. And her laugh was the cutest, yet most genuine laugh he had ever heard. Both John and Marilla laughed until their sides ached. And little did they know that this little incident broke a thick layer of ice between them.

"I understand what you mean," Marilla said, wiping her eyes. "There's no need to worry about it."

John chuckled, "Well, I'm glad I said it! I've never seen this side of you before, and I really like it."

Marilla blushed, "You do?"

John nodded, "I like it a lot. And I'd love to hear you laugh again."

"I'm quite surprised," Marilla admitted. "I was told I had an awful laugh."

John looked at her, "Don't believe what everyone says about you - that's what my mum told me. C'mon! I'll walk you home and hold your books."

* * *

Winter hit the small village of Avonlea like a freight train. It was certainly unexpected. Students were forbidden to play outside, having the possibility to freeze to death! As noon approached, Marilla sat quietly in her desk eating her lunch. The boys were sharing jokes in the front of the schoolroom, and the girls sat in a circle at the back of the room, sharing secrets and giggling at the boys. Months had passed, and Marilla hadn't manage to make any friends with the girls in class. She found herself quite shy to make introductions with them.

"Why don't you eat lunch with the other girls?" John Blythe whispered, sliding on the bench next to Marilla. "You look awfully lonely."

Marilla nibbled on her cheese sandwich and shyly shrugged her shoulders.

John looked around the small schoolhouse, and spotted the girls at the back of the room. "I'll introduce you to them," he continued, standing up and grabbing Marilla's arm.

Marilla wriggled her arm free and sat back down as fast as she could. "I-I do not need an introduction. I am fine alone."

John sighed and sat back down, "No you are not," he whispered fiercely. "You will certainly need friends in life. Trust me, I know it."

Marilla finished the last bite of her sandwich, "I do not think I can trust you at the moment. I have no friends and I'm doing quite fine."

John chuckled and shook his head, "We'll see about that!"

He looked around the room and curled his hands at the corners of his mouth, "Rachel!" he hollered. "Come here! I want to introduce you to some one!"

Marilla's eyes widened and her face became as pale as a ghost. "Wh-what was that for?" she whispered in shaky tones.

John leaned back and rested his arms behind his head, "You'll see," he smirked.

Seconds later, a girl with bright, blonde hair walked towards the small desk at the end of the schoolroom. She was quite annoyed because her animated discussion with her classmates was suddenly interrupted. She had managed to hide her annoyance with a polite smile, and although it was noticeable, Marilla thought she did a decent job.

"Hello," she said politely, with a kind smile on her face. Her features were quite defined. Pointed chin, high cheek bones, and lips that reminded Marilla of a cupid's bow.

John sat up, "Well, let's make some introductions, shall we? Rachel, this is Marilla Cuthbert, and Marilla, this is Rachel Hansen."

"Nice to meet you Marilla," Rachel said, holding out a soft, red hand for Marilla to shake.

"Nice to meet you too," Marilla answered, as her dark eyes met the wooden desk.

Rachel shifted her feet, "Well, where did you come from? Are you from around here?"

Marilla shook her head, "I-I came from the States."

Rachel's blue eyes glistened, "You came from the States? That's wonderful! I've always dreamed of living there."

Out of shyness, Marilla didn't say anything, creating an awkward minute of silence. After the moment of unwelcome silence, John spoke, "I want you and Marilla to be best friends. She's quite lonely and needs company."

Rachel looked back at the group of girls whispering at the back of the room.

"Well, I don't know if we could be best friends, but I could definitely make her feel welcome."

"Thanks," John said. "I knew I could trust you."

Marilla felt like she was a child being entrusted into the care of a stranger as John and Rachel talked about her.

Rachel managed a fake smile once again, "C'mon, I'll introduce you to the other girls in the schoolroom."

Marilla hesitated, and looked back at John.

"C'mon," he urged. "Don't be shy!"

Marilla turned around and followed Rachel to the back of the room.

She was not ready to converse with a group of girls she wasn't familiar with.

She wanted to run back home.

* * *

Marilla stopped speaking and looked at Anne in astonishment. "Anne," she said, "You have surprised me! You haven't said a word these past few minutes."

Anne smiled, "The story was so interesting! I couldn't utter a word! I never knew you were a good storyteller Marilla."

Marilla shook her head, "Don't flatter me Anne. Let's get on to the story, shall we?"

Anne nodded eagerly, "Please continue!"

* * *

 **Sorry for a late update! I had lots of studying and testing the past week. Hope you enjoyed it!**

 **-Kristine**


	4. Chapter 4

A blanket of snow covered the small town of Avonlea and indicated that Christmas was around the corner. A frosty breeze blew onto the earth, and sharp icicles hung from frozen gutters of the small homes. Inside, the warm Avonlea schoolhouse was adorned from top to bottom with Christmas themed drawings and decor. Even Mr. Davies had managed to bring a decent tabletop Christmas tree and had given the girls permission to decorate it during their lunch hour.

On one particular chilly winter afternoon, Mr. Davies addressed the class with some exciting news, "In two weeks, we will be having a Christmas talent show in the nearby Presbyterian Church. Each of you are required to perform a Christmas-themed piece of literature or music in front of your families and friends."

After a moment of silence, Mr. Davies glanced at his silver pocket watch and looked up at the class, "Class is over for the day. If you have any questions, come see me after class."

Marilla sighed, "I really hate speaking in front of audiences. Is this talent show mandatory?" she asked Rachel as they walked home from the schoolhouse.

"Of course it's mandatory!" Rachel laughed as she saw her breath in the cold atmosphere. "What are you planning to do?"

Marilla shrugged, "I honestly don't know what to do. I cannot sing or play an instrument!"

"Those aren't your only options, Marilla."

Marilla shook her head, "Well, what else can I do?"

Rachel dusted off snow from her charcoal black coat, "There's no harm in reciting a Christmas poem. I think you'd do a particularly nice job."

Marilla sighed, "If I cannot come up with a performance, I'll take your idea into consideration."

Rachel laughed, "We'll see about that!"

* * *

And before Marilla knew it, the day of the fated talent show had approached. The class had spent the last half of the day decorating the church and rehearsing their pieces. Marilla had taken Rachel's idea into consideration, and planned to recite "Twas the Night Before Christmas" by Clement C. Moore.

That night, Marilla was given permission to dress up at Rachel's house much to her delight. Rachel had _insisted_ that Marilla borrow one of her red tarlatan evening gowns.

"You look beautiful!" Rachel exclaimed, clasping her hands together and looking at her friend in admiration.

"I don't know if I should keep the bow," Marilla hinted, pointing to the extravagant crimson bow resting in her long, dark tresses.

"Keep it!" Rachel insisted. "The bow compliments your dark eyes and your black hair. Trust me, you look absolutely wonderful!"

"Thank you," Marilla blushed, looking at her hands shyly. "And you look very pretty as well. I'm sure Thomas Lynde will be very pleased to see you like this."

Rachel nodded, "Thank you Marilla. Let's get going, shall we?"

* * *

The Christmas recital officially began thirty minutes after Marilla and Rachel arrived at the church. Every pew of the Presbyterian church was filled by the time Mr. Davies opened the show in prayer. Next, Alice Cooper sang a beautiful Christmas carol, and Rachel played "Good King Wenceslas" on the piano. When it was his turn, John Blythe amused every audience with his silly Christmas poem. By the time William Sloane finished playing "Twas in the Moon of Wintertime," on the piano, it was Marilla's turn to perform her piece.

After William Sloane walked off the altar with his sheet music, Mr. Davies cleared his throat to introduce the next performance, "And next up, we have Marilla Cuthbert who will be reciting 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' by Clement C. Moore."

Marilla stood frozen in her seat - she could _not_ get up. Stage fright had been one of her biggest weaknesses, and she couldn't seem to overcome it. Back in the States, her stage fright had made her faint in front of her audience.

Rachel nudged Marilla, "What are you waiting for? It's your time to perform!"

Marilla's heart was in her throat as she crept up the carpeted altar. Her dark eyes scanned the room, and all she could see was straight faces. Her heart threatened to burst forth from its rib cage as her clammy hands gripped the corners of her evening dress.

An obvious cough from Mr. Davies snapped Marilla out of her reverie.

Marilla took a shaky breath, "Tw-twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house. N-not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."

The audience was dead silent, and Marilla could swear she heard her own heart beat.

Marilla continued, "The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there."

Marilla paused; she had completely forgotten the next line. _What is the next line?_ she thought to herself.

Her eyes scanned the audience in fear, and she noticed Mr. Davies impatiently tapping his shoe against the polished, wooden floor.

"Th-the stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there," Marilla repeated. "And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap..." Marilla shook her head - _that was different line!_

Marilla's face began to turn into an embarrassing reddish hue, and she could feel Ethel Pye's eyes boring through her.

Mr. Davies was in the corner impatiently looking at his favorite silver pocket watch.

Marilla could not bear the humiliation any longer.

Without another thought, she buried her head in her hands, and ran through the side door and out the church.

* * *

Out in the cold night, Marilla's face burned with embarrassment as she kept her head buried in her hands.

 _"How will I ever have the guts to face the audience again?"_ she cried to herself. _"I've made the biggest fool of myself!"_

"Mar!" came the distinct voice of John Blythe in the dark, winter night. "Mar! Where are you?"

Marilla didn't answer - she _couldn't_ answer. How could she face John Blythe like that? His poem was the best performance of the recital.

Marilla waited for John to find her, as he sat down on a small, snowy bench besides her.

"What happened up there?" John asked honestly after a moment of silence.

Marilla glared at him with dark eyes, "What do you think?" she retorted.

John shrugged, "You want me to tell you?"

Marilla nodded fiercely, "Go ahead."

John cleared his throat, "Your recitation had the potential to be wonderful, but your stage fright got the better of you."

"You're stating the obvious, Blythe!" Marilla said through gritted teeth. "Of _course_ I suffer from stage fright - I've suffered from stage fright all my life. But _how_ can I overcome it? Can I even overcome stage fright?"

John thought for a second, "I believe it's possible to overcome stage fright," he began. "But in order to, you need to change your entire mindset."

Marilla folded her arms and faced John, "Alright Mr. 'Know-it-all,'" she hissed. "What should I do then?"

John smiled at Marilla's remark and crossed his fingers, "Boost your self-confidence."

"Excuse me?"

"The only way to overcome fear and anxiety is to build your self-confidence. Do you know that fear and anxiety comes from a lack of belief in your ability to handle situations? When you doubt in your ability to succeed, it negatively influences all you do."

"But _how_ can I build my self-confidence? Most times, I feel like I have _no_ confidence!"

"Start with something simple to build your confidence," John said. "Get rid of negative thoughts, and be positive. Most importantly, _don't_ compare yourself to others, because comparing yourself to others leaves no room for improvement and confidence. The truth is that everyone is different, and are talented in different areas."

"You may need to remind me of this when we have to do this next year," Marilla joked.

John grinned, "Let's go back in, before we catch a cold."

Marilla shivered, "Now everyone in Avonlea would forever taunt me for forgetting my lines and running out the church. I can't even bear to think of what Ethel Pye would say about it."

John grinned, "Wait till you watch her performance. She thinks she could sing, but she really sings like a goat."

Marilla's teeth chattered, and John took notice of this. "Fiddlesticks!" he exclaimed, taking off his coat and draping it over her thin shoulders. "Forgive my chivalry! I'm still learning."

Marilla managed a smile, "Thank you for the coat."

Within a second, Rachel Hansen pounded out from the back door and ran to the two. "Marilla! Are you okay?" she asked, looking deep into Marilla's brown eyes with concern. "I was starting to think that you weren't coming back."

John put his arm around Marilla, "Well she's coming back in."

Rachel ignored John and looked at Marilla, "Are you _sure_ you're okay? You had a big fright moments ago."

"I'll be okay," Marilla mumbled.

"Well then," John interrupted. "Let's get going. Ethel Pye is singing next, and we're in for a treat!"

Rachel laughed and took Marilla's hand as the three of them made their way back to the warm church.

* * *

Anne Shirley interrupted, "I feel _compelled_ to ask you this, Marilla. Did Ethel Pye really sing like a goat?"

Marilla stifled a laugh, "Let's just say that her performance surely made me feel better about mine."

Anne laughed, "What happened next?"


	5. Chapter 5

Marilla Cuthbert woke up on Christmas morning to the sound of logs crackling in the fireplace, but most importantly - to the smell of her mother's signature apple cinnamon pancakes. For as long Marilla remembered, she would look forward to eating apple cinnamon pancakes on Christmas morning. Even after her mother's passing, her father never failed to make them. Marilla sped down the creaky mahogany stairs down to the kitchen. Three small china plates with a pitcher of milk were carefully placed on the table when she got there. Her fifteen year older brother Matthew was already on his second pancake.

"'Mornin' Marilla," Paul Cuthbert, Marilla's father greeted her as he flipped another pancake on the stove. "Merry Christmas," he said as Marilla ran toward him.

"Merry Christmas father," she said giving him a hug. Marilla sat down beside Matthew on an old wooden chair as he quietly wished her 'Merry Christmas,' and went back to eating his pancakes. If John thought Marilla was the quietest person in the country, than he had yet to meet her brother. When they arrived to Canada from the United States, their father had asked them if they wanted to attend school. While Marilla readily agreed to attend the local schoolhouse, her brother had politely refused and wished to assist their father in farming.

Paul Cuthbert slid a pancake onto her plate. "How do you like it?" he asked, running his greasy hands through his dark, tousled hair.

Marilla took a bite, and set her fork down, "It's delicious," she said through mouthfuls.

"I'm glad you like it," he said collapsing into a chair across from them. "This year, I tried to make them without looking at your mother's cookbook."

Marilla smiled, "I think you're getting better each year."

Paul sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and chuckled. "You'd never believe me if I told you that cooking is harder than farming."

Marilla smiled, "I would have to disagree with that."

A faint knock on the door interrupted the Cuthberts from their little conversation.

"I'll get that," Marilla's dad said, struggling to get up. He walked down the creaky wooden floor to the door.

"Merry Christmas! You must be Paul Cuthbert, the new neighbor from the States," he smiled. "I'm James Blythe," he greeted, holding out a firm hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Paul Cuthbert managed a smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, and Merry Christmas."

James Blythe rubbed his two hands together, "My wife and I would like to invite you and your family over to my house for Christmas dinner, if it's fine with you of course."

"I'm-"

"I understand if you cannot make it. I'm aware you may have special plans or traditions."

"Well, I-I guess it's fine with us. Thank you for your invitation."

James Blythe smiled, "Well then, I'll see you at seven. Have a Merry Christmas!" he said walking out the front door.

* * *

At seven o'clock that evening, Marilla and her family sat quietly around the Blythe's dinning room table. Mrs. Blythe set the glazed turkey on the table, and sat down next to her husband. After a prayer from Mr. Blythe, it was time to eat. Marilla dreaded the awkward conversation that would take place. Her family was relatively quiet and they hardly talked at the dinner table.

"Well, Mr. Cuthbert," James Blythe began, trying to strike a conversation, "how long have you been at Avonlea?"

Paul Cuthbert shifted awkwardly in his seat, "Well... uh... lemme see... Well, we came here in August, so I'd say about four months?"

Mr. Blythe nodded, "And if I'm not mistaken, you were from the States?"

Paul Cuthbert nodded and said nothing more. The Christmas dinner was rather awkward. Mr. Blythe attempted to continue conversation, but Mr. Cuthbert's one word answers made it seem like a question and answer session. Mrs. Blythe chipped in, and sometimes even John, but after ten minutes, they gave up and not a word was said. At the end of the dinner, Mrs. Blythe brought out an appetizing cherry-vanilla cake, and as predicted, the Blythes and the Cuthberts ate their cake in silence.

* * *

After dessert, Mrs. Blythe began to clean up, resolutely rejecting Marilla's offer to help her with the dishes. Mr. Blythe took Marilla's father to his barn to examine his farming tools, and Matthew trailed behind. Marilla and John were left alone in the living room, sitting quietly on a couch.

"Mar," John said quietly. It was the first word he said to her that evening. "Let's sneak out, and besides, I can show you around the farm."

They both walked outside as John showed Marilla his family's farm. He showed her his favorite place to play when he was a a little child and even showed her his father's sorrel mare. They continued to walk in silence until they came to the front of the house.

"Mar," I have something for you, John said fumbling in his coat pocket to get something. He held out a thin, silver necklace with a slightly iridescent pearl in the middle. Marilla gasped; she was deeply touched by John's thoughtful gesture. They had just met and yet he had bought her a Christmas gift.

John smiled, his hazel eyes bright at Marilla's raw reaction.

"Thank you," she whispered, clutching the necklace to her chest. "I love it." Right after, she backed away from John and covered her face with her gloved hands. He had taken the time and thought to buy her a Christmas present while she never even thought of buying him one.

John laughed, fully aware of Marilla's guilt, "Don't worry about it, Mar. I think I have plenty of gifts myself, and I'm glad you like it."

Marilla gulped, "I'm so sorry."

John shook his head, "That's fine. Let me put it on for you."

Marilla nodded and turned around as John opened the clasp and put the necklace around her neck, his tender touch sending chills down her spine. She turned to face John, whose hazel eyes were staring intently at her. She had never seen his look so intense - so serious. She was almost scared at the intensity of his gaze.

And without another word, John cupped Marilla's face in his hands, and kissed her cold lips.

"Merry Christmas, Mar," he whispered, leaving a deep red blush on Marilla's pale cheeks.

He walked back inside, leaving a dumbfounded Marilla on the doorsteps.

* * *

 _ **I hope you liked this chapter. For some clarification (in case you forgot what the story is about), Marilla is telling Anne the story behind her relationship with John Blythe - Gilbert's father. I know that this is probably the longest bedtime story you will read, and I have a feeling that this story will be longer than I intended it to be. Unfortunately, I cannot predict when the next chapter will come. But I can promise you that there is so much in store for this story.**_

 _ **Oh, and I almost forgot...**_

 _ **MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!**_


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